Little Christmas Things
by Brad'sPyjamas
Summary: In which there is Christmassy fluff and baby stuff, Uncle Mycroft, Mummy Holmes and everything else you could possibly need for a Watson-Holmes family Christmas. This story follows on, almost directly, from "Little Things" and there will be a 221B ficlet posted each day from now until 25th December. Co-written with Kizzia.
1. Deck the Halls

**Author Notes first. Because they are important:**

I, Bradspyjamas, need to make it very clear that without Kizzia this would not be happening. It says co-written in the summary because Kizzia is stupidly noble and insisted but, in reality, she's written all of them herself. She has done this because I really, really wanted this story to happen but I've been so overwhelmed with MA work that my ability to write seems to have gone into hiding. So I mailed her my one measly page of ideas and she has turned it into the story I would have written had I not been being so useless. I have attempted to beta them but my grip of grammar and commas and stuff is … well, thing Arthur in Cabin Pressure and you won't go far wrong!

I, Kizzia, need to make it clear that I am neither stupid or noble. It says co-written because, despite the fact that I may have produced more of the actual text than Bradspyjamas, this could never have existed if she hadn't written Little Things and done such wonderful world building in her own version of Omegaverse. This is as much hers as it is mine and, in the most important aspects, even more so. I'm honoured she trusted me enough with her world to let me play.

We both hope you enjoy this and have a thoroughly lovely advent and Christmas!

(Oh, and we don't own Sherlock, this is just for fun, no profit being made, etc. ad infinitum)

* * *

**"Deck the halls"**

'There now, little one,' John says as he lays Hamish in his lap while he rights his own clothing and puts a rag over his shoulder, 'is that better?'

A gurgle of milky bubbles from lips that are the miniature of Sherlock's makes John smile and, unable to resist, lean down to press a kiss to Hamish's full tummy before settling him over his shoulder.

'Are you two finished?' Sherlock asks as he carries a large cardboard box into the living room.

'Yes, do you want to … what's in there?'

'Honestly John,' Sherlock quirks an eyebrow as he sets it on the table, 'do you not know what today is?'

'Um … Saturday?'

'Well yes but ...'

'No, don't tell me,' John furrows his brow, hand moving rhythmically on Hamish's back as he wiggles and burps, 'I'll get it. Just let me think … our anniversary's in April, there's no case and Hamish being ten and a half weeks old doesn't signify anything special so …' John's eyes roam the room and he catches sight of the newspaper. 'Oh! It's the first of December.'

'Exactly,' Sherlock grins and, expression morphing into one of pure glee, pulls out a handful of tinsel, 'Christmas, John. It's Hamish's first Christmas!'

'Well what are you waiting for?' John grins back, Sherlock's enthusiasm catching, 'you'd best break out the baubles.'


	2. With every Christmas card I write

**"With every Christmas card I write"**

'Blimey,' Greg blurts out as he steps into the flat, pretending to shade his eyes, 'did Santa's little helpers come to play?'

'Just Sherlock,' John says from the desk, hand pausing as he turns and smiles, 'although I have to admit I may have gone out and bought some extra lights. And some more tinsel. '

'I'd never have guessed,' Greg flicks one of the more gaudy decorations overwhelming the room before registering the quietness pervading the flat. 'Are Hamish and Sherlock both asleep?'

'No. Although Hamish might be by now, Sherlock's taken him out for an afternoon walk.' John scribbles a few more words and then looks up, waving his hand over the stacks of cards and envelopes. 'I needed some peace to get this finished today.'

'You do know that that last Christmas post isn't until the twentieth, don't you?' Greg asks as he wanders over to the window, tone making it clear he certainly hasn't started writing his cards yet.

'It is for the UK, these are going a little further afield than that.'

Greg just raises an eyebrow but then his eye catches a name on one of the finished envelopes, 'Sergeant Bill Murray … Oh, they're going to Afghanistan.'

'Yes, my old unit is out there on deployment again, poor sods. I don't envy them Christmas in Bastion.'

* * *

_**Authors note (from Kizzia):** And yes, before anyone says anything, I do know that the last BFPO Christmas posting date to Operational bases like Camp Bastion was 30th November but I'm assuming that Mycroft can pull some strings so John's cards get to his comrades on time. There do have to be some advantages to be the brother-in-law of "The British Government"._


	3. Don we now our gay apparel

**"Don we now our gay apparel"**

'John!' Sherlock calls, clattering up the stairs and charging through the door, a garish 'thing' clutched in both hands.

'It's a good job Hamish isn't asleep,' comes John's slightly grumpy response. He's sitting at the kitchen table chopping vegetables and keeping one eye on Hamish, who is ensconced in his swing in the living room, blue eyes fixed on the Winnie-the-Pooh figures dangling from the toy bar.

'Yes, I suppose,' Sherlock says, unperturbed, as he kisses John's temple and then darts over to Hamish, dropping to his knees and pressing voluble kisses to Hamish's bare fingers and socked feet.

'What did you buy?'

Sherlock looks up, face alight with enthusiasm, and holds the thing out. When John just shrugs he sighs and starts pulling it on, at which point John has to fight not to burst out laughing.

'I-Is that a p-papoose?'

'No, John, it is not,' Sherlock retorts, apparently confused as to why John would find the sight of him wearing anything rainbow covered amusing. 'The term papoose properly refers to a Native American form of swaddling. This is a baby carrier. A three way baby carrier. You can wear it as a back pack too.'

'Excellent,' John chokes out, wiping the tears from his eyes, 'and if we get lost in fog we can use you as a beacon.'


	4. See the fur to keep you warm

**"See the fur to keep you warm, snugly round your tiny form"**

'Oh that's … um … vivid,' Molly stutters when she catches sight of Sherlock entering the coffee shop behind John, Hamish strapped securely to his chest.

'Isn't it just,' John grins as he pulls her into a hug while Sherlock shrugs off his coat and sits down at the table Molly has secured. He looks less incongruous wearing the baby carrier in just his suit but only marginally; rainbow print really doesn't compliment either Belstaff or Spenser Hart.

'Molly,' Sherlock says stiffly.

'Hello Sherlock, Hello Hamish!' She offers Hamish her finger, which is immediately grabbed and squeezed. 'What a clever Papa you've got, finding something that you can see the world out of.'

'Indeed,' Sherlock looks appeased, much to her relief. 'The colours are to aid his development.'

'Oh that's the party line is it?' John says, re-appearing with drinks.

Sherlock glares at him but is distracted by what Molly's pulling out of her bag.

'It isn't anything big. So you,' she looks at John as she shakes it out, smiling shyly, 'can't tell me off. But I just thought, what with it getting so cold and all.'

'How lovely,' Sherlock sounds so sincere John does a double take. Because Molly is holding out a furry romper suit, complete with hood, that is clearly designed to make Hamish look like a teddy bear.'


	5. He's making a list

**"He's making a list, he's checking it twice"**

'… come on, Sherlock. I'd have thought this would be something you'd enjoy.'

'Your Daddy is mistaking me for someone who cares, isn't he Hamish. Oh, yes he is!'

'You do care. You proved that quite effectively when you flung yourself off a roof.'

'I care for people. Not filling boxes with over-priced tat.'

'You are impossible! I'm asking for your help so I _don't_ buy anyone tat, overpriced or otherwise.'

'They won't expect anything this year.'

'Why?'

'We've got Hamish.'

'And they say you're a genius! Having a baby does _not_ preclude you from purchasing gifts for your friends and family. Or were you intending to just give me a kiss on Christmas morning?'

'I'm certainly intending to start with a kiss. Then I'm hoping things will progress from there.'

'Hamish can hear you!'

'Hamish hasn't objected so far.'

'That's not … oh very clever. But I'm not that easily distracted. We're talking presents.'

'Fine.'

'I've listed a jumper for Greg and bath balls for Molly. But I'm drawing a blank for Mrs Hudson and Mycroft. Who needs something nice since he told me what to buy your mother and ….'

'I'm not getting Mummy anything Mycroft suggests and as for the rest … here!'

John smiles triumphantly as the list is snatched away by an oblivious Sherlock, who is muttering 'Honestly John, balls?'


	6. Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child

**"Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child"**

Sherlock puts down the case file and rises from the table the instant it starts; the siren call of John's voice - a voice that, until eleven weeks ago, he'd not known John possessed - drawing him to the bedroom door in seconds. It shouldn't be surprising that there are still things left to learn about John because John's consistent non-boringness – his love of danger and the way he rarely acts or reacts the way normal people do - is what drew Sherlock to him in the first place.

Yet this - the purity of each note that turns a simple lullaby into a symphony in Sherlock's head - this is not a talent he expects people to keep hidden. Not when they're this good.

When Hamish is older Sherlock will thank him for being the reason John shared his gift.

John pauses between songs and Sherlock cannot help himself; slipping inside, over to the cradle and wrapping his arms round John's still slightly thickened waist. Then, as John starts The Coventry Carol, he presses a brief kiss to the back of his neck before, very softly, joining in; his baritone the perfect counterpoint to John's mellifluous tenor. It takes two more carols sung in harmony before sleep claims Hamish; his eyes finally closing just as they finish the line "all is calm, all is bright."

* * *

This was, in part, inspired by Atlin Merrick and her fabulous Minutiae – in which one of the things Sherlock learns about John is that he has a wonderful voice. John being able to sing became head cannon for both of us and thus had to be brought into Little Things 'verse.

The title of this is the first line of The Coventry Carol, in case anyone is wondering.


	7. So be good for goodness sake

**"So be good for goodness sake"**

'That'll be Sarah,' Sherlock says when the doorbell rings.

'What?' John mutters distractedly while changing a very wriggly Hamish's nappy.

'Sarah's here.' Sherlock sounds gleeful as he goes to let her in.

John shakes his head and, finally getting the nappy fixed, reaches for a fresh romper only to find Sherlock's replaced it with the "bear" suit.

'What is your Papa up to?' he asks Hamish, capturing a flailing foot and easing the fabric over it. 'Should I worry?'

'I'll be offended if you do,' Sarah kneels down next to them, 'I'm only borrowing him for the afternoon.'

John opens his mouth but Sherlock's too quick for him, 'Here's his bag. Everything's in there, including two bottles. Is the romper suitable?'

'Perfect.' She settles the bag over her shoulder and scoops Hamish up. 'Thank you both, I really appreciate this.' She kisses John's cheek and then stands, 'I'll have him home by six.'

'No rush,' Sherlock murmurs as she disappears.

'What the …'

'A Christmas favour,' Sherlock pulls John up and under the mistletoe. 'Sarah gets baby photos for the surgery's post-natal brochure. I get you …' he kisses John, 'alone ...' and again, 'for the entire afternoon.'

'You're a bad man,' John murmurs when they come up for air.

'Indeed,' Sherlock purrs, 'now let me show you how good my bad can be.'


	8. As bitter as any gall

**"As bitter as any gall"**

'… and as for _that_,' Harry jabs her finger towards the pushchair where Hamish is - despite the shrillness of his Aunt's voice - sleeping peacefully, 'you just_ had_ to bring it, didn't you? Had to shove your fertility and your perfect life right in my face. Well much good may it do you, Johnny. You'll only fuck it up the way you let Mum and Dad fuck me up. Now get out and don't come back.'

John leaves without another word.

Half an hour later Sherlock's phone beeps.

_She behaved just as we feared. Be gentle with him - MH_

Downstairs the door closes very quietly. Sherlock hesitates for a moment and then does what he thinks John would do if the situation were reversed. The tea is made and steaming on the living room table by the time John appears in the doorway.

'Here,' John thrusts a still snoozing Hamish into Sherlock's arms. 'I'm just going to … I'm just …'

John's composure cracks and Sherlock reaches for him, shifting Hamish so he can cradle them both.

'I'm sorry, John,' he murmurs as John sobs silently into his chest.

'She's so bitter,' John whispers eventually, 'I wouldn't have gone but ... it's Christmas, she hadn't met Hamish and I thought …. Stupid … She wouldn't even look at him, Sherlock! All she did was spout blame and bile.'


	9. Away in a manger

**"Away in a manger"**

They join the throng on the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields just as the torches are lit and the smell of the smoke - combined with the crisp night air and the joyous atmosphere of the crowd as they wait for the crib service to start - does what nothing else has managed and begins to unwind the knots in John's stomach.

As John reaches for Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together in an unspoken thank you for insisting they come, he realises that Hamish has stopped grizzling for the first time today and is busy attempting to remove his hat.

'Oh no you don't, little one. You're keeping that on and staying toasty warm.'

'You can't blame him,' Sherlock says as the procession moves off towards Trafalgar Square, 'I wouldn't want to wear red and green striped anything.'

'Says the man in the rainbow papoose,' John responds, giggling as he darts up to kiss the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

'Touché,' Sherlock huffs but he's smiling widely, eyes crinkling at the edges and John suddenly realises just how much his reaction to visitng Harry has worried Sherlock as the tension between them disappears.

'Sorry, love,' he says as they come to a halt right next to the life sized manger, 'I …'

'Hush,' Sherlock hugs him close, 'I'm just glad this made you feel better.'

* * *

The blessing of the crib in Trafalgar Square is actually happening as we post this. If anyone did go, we hope you had a wonderful time!


	10. The baby awakes

**"The baby awakes"**

John presses back against the warmth of Sherlock's body, willing himself to relax, to allow his eyes to close. Sherlock's response is a muffled, sleepy non-word as he pulls John even closer, hand flexing comfortingly on John's stomach.

It doesn't help.

Hamish has been fretful all day - bar the interlude at the crib service - unable to really settle until he dropped off an hour ago. John knows he's probably being ridiculous, letting Harry's spiteful insinuation that he'll fail Hamish panic him, but he can't shake the sense that something's wrong, that Hamish is ill. After all it's December, the month for nasty viruses and babies are notorious for not displaying symptoms until they're really poorly.

So he lies there in the dark, eyes fixed on the deeper shadow of the cot across the room, alert for any noise, any movement.

Nothing.

All he can hear is the steady drag of Sherlock's breath and the insistent pounding of his own heart.

But the absence of noise makes it worse. What if … then there's a whimper.

Soft, just on the edge of hearing, but a whimper nonetheless. Followed by another; louder, longer and ending in a wail. John's out of Sherlock's arms and across the room before the other man can do more than stir, absurdly grateful as Hamish really starts to bawl.


	11. And so it continues both day and night

**"And so it continues both day and night"**

'Oh he's got himself properly worked up again tonight!' Mrs Hudson says as she enters the flat, looking sympathetically at Sherlock, who is desperately trying to calm his screaming son.

'Sorry, Mrs Hudson,' John croaks from where he's slumped in his chair. 'We'll take him up to the nursery. I don't want you disturbed three nights in a row.'

'Don't be silly, dear,' she waves her hands dismissively and then reaches for Hamish. Sherlock hesitates for a second but can't quite hide his relief to be handing him over.

'You don't mean to make all this noise, do you, you poor colicky little mite?' she croons into Hamish's screwed up face before settling him against her shoulder.

'It's horrible,' John says as Sherlock starts making up more gripe water. 'We don't know what else to try. We've done all our usual things and everything the books suggest but nothing seems to help.'

'Every baby is different.' she says sagely, starting to joggle on the spot, expression making it clear she believes this will quieten Hamish down.

It doesn't.

John hadn't thought Hamish capable of expressing his discomfort any louder than he is already but it soon becomes clear he really, really can.

'Oh dear,' Mrs Hudson winces as she swiftly gives Hamish back to John. 'I don't think he likes bouncing.'


	12. What can I give him

**"What can I give him"**

She's about to hang up when the phone is answered with a slurred 'Sh-lock H-mes.'

'Hello Sherlock darling, how are you?' she says, frowning at how groggy he sounds.

'O-Oh, hello Mummy. I'm fine. A bit tired. You know.'

'I do have a vague recollection. I rarely got more than an hour's sleep at a time in your first year.'

He spares her the need to ask exactly what's wrong by responding, rather frantically, with 'Colic goes on for a year?'

'No,' she soothes, 'You didn't have colic. You just didn't like being ignored.'

She expects an acerbic retort but gets silence, thanks to which the background noises become identifiable; Hamish sobbing and John begging his son to "Shush, little one. Please stop crying."

'Goodbye Sherlock. Ring me when you have a moment,' she says and, without waiting for a response, rings off then immediately dials another number.

'Mummy?' Mycroft sounds mildly perturbed.

'Hello darling. There isn't a problem. I just need you to give Sherlock and John an early Christmas present.'

'Which would be …?'

'Several hours of uninterrupted sleep'

'How am I supposed to do that?'

'The same way you did for me.'

'Oh!'

'Quite. You were a natural with him.'

'But ….'

'But me no buts, Mycroft Holmes. You'll remember when you get there. It's just like riding a bike.'


	13. The wondrous gift is given

**"The wondrous gift is given"**

'Mycroft,' Sherlock's greeting can barely be heard above Hamish's piercing wails, 'Is your presence really necessary?'

Mycroft's eyes sweep over Sherlock, taking in the sick encrusted t-shirt and shadowed face before looking past him to John, who is similarly dishevelled but with eyes so dark he makes Sherlock look positively sprightly.

'I see your love of Christmas asserted itself prior to current circumstances,' he speaks loudly, stepping round Sherlock while removing his jacket, waistcoat and tie.

'Tell me you didn't come here to sneer at the decor.'

'Gladly. I didn't. I've come for my nephew … May I?'

He reaches for Hamish without waiting for an answer, apparently un-fazed by the screams, and meets no resistance from John.

'Well now, Hamish,' he says as he strokes a bright red cheek before settling Hamish into the crook of his right arm and gently rubbing his tummy, 'let's see if I can't make you feel all better.'

Within minutes Hamish is merely whimpering and Mycroft briefly looks up, smiling into two shell-shocked faces.

'Go and sleep. I shall remain with my nephew for the rest of the afternoon.' He looks back down, 'Yes, Hamish, I will.'

'Am I hallucinating?' Sherlock asks, reaching for John as Mycroft continues to talk softly to their son.

'Who cares,' John slurs, staggering into Sherlock's arms, 'goin' to bed.'


	14. Worship the beloved with a kiss

**"Worship the beloved with a kiss"**

'… if you can read it. My brother's handwriting is erratic at its best.' Mycroft instructs, voice commanding but barely above a whisper.

'Of course, sir,' is the equally soft reply as Mycroft's newest conscript takes the list and tries not to react to the strange sight of his normally pristine boss slouched in an arm chair, improperly dressed, cradling a sleeping baby. 'And it should be charged …?'

'To my personal account. It must all be wrapped, labelled appropriately and delivered here by 3pm tomorrow. And please instruct … what is she calling herself today?

'Mary, sir.'

'Indeed. How very droll. Nevertheless, inform Mary that unless a code red occurs she is to handle all matters as she sees fit until I return after Christmas.'

'Sir?'

'Is something about that sentence puzzling you?'

'N-No, Sir. But .…'

'Good. Then I suggest you get on. Fortnum's will, I imagine, be very busy.'

'Sir.'

Mycroft watches the young man leave and then, very slowly, shifts in John's chair until he can see into the kitchen. 'Do stop loitering, Sherlock. Come in here and just ask.'

Sherlock slinks into the room, whole body radiating confusion. 'How?' he murmurs plaintively, gesturing at Hamish, 'And why? … Why would you even …. Oh!' he breathes, as Hamish twitches in his sleep and Mycroft instinctively kisses his head, 'My! You're completely besotted.'


	15. Bearing gifts we travel afar

**"Bearing gifts they travel afar"**

'So, cars and Mycroft, then,' John says as the sleek black sedan Mycroft provided to drive them to Gatton skirts the edge of Norbury. Hamish, in a baby seat set between them, is asleep with Sherlock's index finger clutched in his fist. He'd been crying solidly for two hours when the car arrived but went out like a light before they'd even passed Hyde Park.

'Pardon?' Sherlock lifts his head, dragging his eyes away from his son to search John's face for clues.

'Hamish's favourite things. Cars and Mycroft.'

'Cars are acceptable. Mycroft however … are we sure he's not a changeling?' Sherlock sounds displeased but his mouth is twitching with the effort of not smiling.

'Mycroft is most definitely acceptable,' John says, running a hand over his face. 'If it wasn't for him we'd be turning up at your Mother's with no gifts and bags under our eyes rather than in the boot.'

'He has his uses.'

John snorts at Sherlock's petulance but then his face goes serious. 'Do you think Hamish will cry all weekend? I know how much Violet has been looking forward to this and …'

'She's raised three children.' Sherlock interrupts, 'she knows what it's like. Besides, if it does all get a bit much we can just ply her with fizz. We've brought a case of Bollinger.'

* * *

Apologies for not posting yesterday. We were distracted by actually being in London together and an IMAX Hobbit experience.


	16. Mother and child

**"Mother and child"**

'I may have got somewhat carried away,' Violet confides as she ushers him into the room she's prepared for them. John opens his mouth to tell her he's sure she hasn't but the words die on his lips as he looks around.

Setting aside the fact that this was an empty room when they'd visited before Hamish was born he's not quite sure what to focus on first; the enormous four-poster bed dominating the far wall, the luxurious rocking cradle over by the window, the state-of-the-art bathroom visible through the door opposite or the serene mix of greens and blues making up the rest of the soft furnishings.

'I just want you both to know you're welcome here any time,' she says, squeezing his shoulder and then disappearing back into the hallway.

It takes John a good half hour to explore everything she's provided (and to realise that Reginald has already brought their bags up and unpacked them) so when he finally makes his way back down to what Violet calls the family room he's able to pause in the doorway, unnoticed.

Sherlock, cuddling Hamish, is sitting next to Violet who is, in turn, cuddling him; arms tight round his waist, her forehead resting against his temple. John's heart constricts as he realises just how much she's missed her baby boy.


	17. O come let us adore him

**"O come let us adore him"**

'I'm very glad we're here,' John leans down to speak right into Sherlock's ear. He's sat on the arm of the sofa for want of anywhere else to perch in the crowded room and Sherlock's arm is round his waist.

'I am too,' Sherlock squeezes John tightly and nods to where Violet is sitting in the window, Hamish sat, resplendent, on her lap being cooed over and adored by more of the Surrey set than Sherlock had ever wanted to see in one room. 'Mummy is positively glowing.'

'This is the first Christmas party she's held for years,' Mycroft says from behind them, making them both jump.

'Well she certainly knows how do it right,' John acknowledges as he accepts a canapé

'Holmeses generally do,' Mycroft says with such pronounced self-satisfaction that John nearly snorts his drink everywhere, making Sherlock explode with laughter too.

'Boys, boys! What on earth is going on?' Violet sounds less than pleased and Sherlock realises everyone is staring.

'I … um….' John starts but Sherlock's quicker, mind palace providing a sliver of memory from a childhood Christmas dinner.

'Just a silly joke, Mummy.'

Eyebrows raised she motions for him to continue.

'How can you tell there's an elephant in the fridge?' Sherlock says brightly.

Silence.

'No-one?'

John sniggers softly.

'It's simple. Look for footprints in the butter.'


	18. Snow has fallen, snow on snow

**"Snow has fallen, snow on snow"**

Sherlock gently lifts Hamish out of the cradle, holding him up so he is facing toward the window.

'Look, Hamish,' he says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, 'snow! Lots of lovely, fluffy snow.'

'It's not lovely or fluffy,' John's voice is rough with sleep, 'it's just lumpy frozen water. However,' and Sherlock can hear John begin to smile, 'we'll go out in it straight after breakfast if you bring Hamish here and get me some tea.'

In fact it is nearly midday before they get outside, Mummy and Mycroft fussing over Hamish's attire until Sherlock simply snatches his son from Mycroft's hold and marches outside. John follows, shouting apologies over his shoulder.

'Honestly Sherlock,' John grouses when he catches up, 'was that necessary?'

'It's snow,' Sherlock takes John's hand, 'you have to be out in it to properly appreciate it.'

The wistfulness in Sherlock's voice gives John a good idea of who he's quoting but he says nothing, content to walk and revel in the beauty of the frozen landscape.

'Here we are, Hamish,' Sherlock stops at the edge of the maze, 'Ford and I always used to build our snowman here.'

'And I helped,' Mycroft appears next to them, clutching a carrot and some lumps of coal. 'You always did forget the nose, eyes and buttons.'


	19. Mild he lays his glory by

**"Mild he lays his glory by"**

'Are you sure you won't stay for Christmas proper,' Violet says as she slips into the room carrying a mug of tea. John's propped up on the bed, giving Hamish his afternoon feed. 'I'm perfectly happy to host it all here, including having that rather dishy Detective Inspector, Mrs Hudson and Molly to stay.'

'I know you are.' John smiles, mentally cataloguing that comment so he can tell Greg at an inopportune moment, like when he's just taken a mouthful of coffee, 'but …' He pauses, searching for the right words; not wanting to upset the woman he's come to love like a mother but needing to explain nonetheless. 'I don't want to sound ungrateful, Violet, but I …'

She sits down and pats his bare foot gently, 'you want to be at home. I do understand.'

'I want to make some traditions,' John says as Violet sets a rag over her shoulder and, swapping Hamish for the tea, begins to burp him. 'Sherlock's been mentioning things he used to do with you, Ford and Mycroft and I … I want the three of us to have that too.'

'Your Daddy's a good man, poppet,' Violet says to Hamish, although her eyes remain fixed on John. 'He loves your Papa so very much and he's going to take such good care of you both.'


	20. Oh Christmas tree

**"O Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree"**

'Good God, John,' Sherlock growls from where he's watching, far enough back that neither he nor Hamish - papoose bound and wearing his red and green hat and matching mittens – are in any danger, 'do you have any idea what this … uh … display is doing to me?'

John swings the axe again, makes a satisfied sound as the tree topples over and then turns to Sherlock with a feral smile on his face. 'I do, as it happens.' He drops the axe and saunters over the snow; hips swaying in a way that Sherlock is certain should be illegal. 'It's exactly what you do to me at every crime scene, with deductions falling from those luscious lips, smirking over your coat collar. What I feel every time you pick up your violin and I see your fingers moving over the strings … so sure, so in control.'

Sherlock twists as John get close, reaching to pull him into his side without crushing Hamish, intending to tilt John's head up and …

'Waaaaaaaaah'

'Oh sweetheart, you're cold!' John goes from sexual to paternal in a flash, Sherlock left clutching at thin air as John whips Hamish away, cuddles him close and starts back to Gatton.

'John!'

'I chopped. You carry,' he calls, apparently oblivious to Sherlock's unquenched interest, 'and mind you don't damage the branches.'


	21. Frosty wind made moan

**"Frosty wind made moan"**

'Consider this pay back,' Sherlock breathes into John's neck, fingers stroking down the curve of John's ear and across his collar bone. They're curled together on the sofa in the family room, watching the fire while the wind whistles round the house. Violet is sewing next to the hearth and Mycroft is in the armchair opposite, Hamish tucked into the crook of his arm as he reads aloud what sounds, to John's very distracted ears, like Shakespeare.

'Your mother is _right there_,' John hisses, shifting restlessly as Sherlock's fingers move across his t-shirt covered chest. His own fingers begin to trail slowly up Sherlock's inner thigh. 'Have you no shame?'

'Shame is overrated,' Sherlock retorts but his voice is deeply husky and his chest is hitching as he fights for control.

John smiles, murmurs 'well, in that case' turns his head and licks Sherlock's neck, just as his fingers reach the top of Sherlock's thigh and brush ….

Sherlock can't stifle his moan at the touch and both Violet and Mycroft's heads snap round, much to John's amusement.

'It's really getting up,' he says before adding, in response to Mycroft's horrified look, 'the wind, I mean.'

To Sherlock he murmurs, 'I reckon it'll be positively _howling_ soon.'

Sherlock gasps, presses his face against John's shoulder and mutters, 'bed, now, you utter bastard.'


	22. The hopes and fears of all the years

**"The hopes and fears of all the years"**

Sherlock sets the tree, which has survived the journey back to 221B in tact, on the left side of the desk and steps back, frowning critically.

'What do you think?' he asks Hamish, who is burbling happily in his baby swing, 'Is it in the right place?'

'Burrrb duduh,' Hamish grabs his own foot and smiles gummily up at Sherlock, who sinks down next to him.

'You're going to be talking before we know it, aren't you,' he says, attempting to peal Hamish's sock out of his hands and get it back onto his foot, 'and Daddy will have to stop using all those rude words.'

'I don't swear that much, do I?' John picks up the tree, moving it to the right of the desk. 'Perfect. We'll get everyone to help decorate it tomorrow.'

'Only when riled. And what's happening tomorrow?'

'Christmas drinks. You know, exactly like the other two Christmases we've spent together.'

'You weren't joking about traditions, were you?' Sherlock stands and wraps his arms round John from behind.

'No,' John leans into him, covering Sherlock's hands with his own. 'I have some … less than happy Christmas memories thanks to my parents. I want to make sure Hamish's are all good.'

Sherlock buries his nose in John's hair, 'And ours, love. All three of us deserve the best.'


	23. Mistletoe and wine

**"Mistletoe and wine"**

'Well, Master Watson-Holmes you seem a lot less colicky,' Greg's got Hamish on one hip and is decorating the tree with his other hand. 'I bet your Daddies are pleased.'

'I think that might be the understatement of the century,' Molly says, reaching for a bauble just as Greg does, their fingers entangling and sending it spinning onto the floor. 'Oh! Sorry, sorry! Silly of me, I …'

'No, don't apologise. Not your fault.' Greg doesn't release her hand, instead lifting it to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles.

Molly's eyes widen but she doesn't pull away, instead tugging randomly at the bodice of her burgundy dress with her free hand before saying, 'Was that just because of the mistletoe?'

Greg's eyes glance upwards to see a bundle of green and white foliage suspended above their heads.

'No, I hadn't even …' He gives Hamish a rueful look, shifting him so he's looking toward the tree rather than at Molly. Running a hand through his hair he smiles and looks deep into her eyes.

'May I kiss you, please, Molly Hooper?'

'Thought you'd never ask,' she breathes, closing the gap and pressing their lips together.

'Well I never,' Mrs Hudson says to Sarah as John rescues Hamish from the oblivious, now very much entwined, pair. 'Who'd have thought they'd be so bold.'


	24. Twas the night before Christmas

**"Twas the night before Christmas"**

'Come on,' Sherlock says, reaching towards John with the arm not cradling Hamish and beckoning to him with a wiggle of his fingers. 'It's getting late and you really don't need to start the sprouts now.'

'But I …'

'But nothing. It's Christmas eve and I've got something,' he taps the book he's got clamped under his arm, 'that I want to make a tradition.'

John puts the vegetable knife down and takes the offered hand, letting Sherlock lead him to the bedroom and hustle him into their bed. When the moses basket is produced and Sherlock ensconces Hamish inside before setting him between the two of them John doesn't even try to fight the pervading warmth and peacefulness. Instead he leans back on the pillows and snuggles into the duvet as Sherlock opens the book.

Listening to Sherlock read to Hamish has become one of John's secret pleasures and tonight is no exception, Sherlock's voice becoming richer and lower with each line of the poem. It's hypnotic and, despite his best efforts, John's eyes flutter closed almost immediately as his body relaxes, breathing beginning to slow. He tries to stay awake until the end but doesn't manage it; the last thing he consciously hears being

"Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, and Vixen! On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner, and Blitzen."


	25. On Christmas Day in the morning

**"Oh Christmas Day in the morning"**

John had expected his Christmas morning to start with Hamish loudly demanding a feed, so when he wakes to warm lips kissing down his neck and weak sunlight filtering through the curtains he's pleasantly surprised.

'Merry Christmas, John,' Sherlock rumbles, voice vibrating through both of them before tugging John onto his back and capturing his lips.

'Merry Christmas, love,' John says when he regains control of his mouth, 'Is that the promised present?'

'Just a promise,' Sherlock's smile curls into what can only be described as an impish grin, 'Hamish is going to want feeding again in a second and I _don't_ like sharing.'

John nods before returning the favour, revelling in the pliant warmth of Sherlock's mouth as he kisses him deeply.

'There,' he murmurs when he pulls back, leaving Sherlock deliciously dazed, 'promises given and received. Now up! Everyone will be here soon and there's loads to do.'

'Right,' Sherlock rubs his eyes before following John over to the cot, where Hamish is, as predicted, starting to stir. He watches John scoop Hamish up and cuddle him close before turning, meeting Sherlock's eyes over the mess of blond curls. The look contains a depth of love that steals Sherlock's breath away.

_This_, he thinks as he steps forward to hug them both,_ is how all our Christmases should begin_.

* * *

_And that's the end of the Advent Calender! Thank you from both of us to everyone who read, commented and kudos. We hope you enjoyed reading as much as we enjoyed putting it together. Johnlock is definitely better than chocolate ;)_

_There's just one thing left to say now:_

_Meretricious, everyone, and a Happy New Year!_


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